


How the Slytherins Saved the World

by singingviolets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family (Harry Potter) - Freeform, Family Issues, First War with Voldemort, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Slytherins, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Gryffindors are cool too I promise, Marauders' Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17478242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingviolets/pseuds/singingviolets
Summary: On the verge of death, Regulus Black was rescued from the lake of Inferi by his beloved house-elf, only to end up at the house of his estranged cousin.Andromeda Black Tonks is a Healer, but when her ex-Death Eater cousin ends up at her home, they both need to decide what's right to save their families and the entire wizarding world.





	1. Chapter 1

It was the latest crack of Apparition that opened Regulus to the possibility that he wasn't quite dead yet.   
  
He focused on his surroundings, attempting to discern his current state of being. He was wet all over, as if some liquid -- perhaps water, perhaps blood, perhaps...something else -- had enveloped him in a thin membrane of slime. Brine and blood and salty coastal vapours flooded his nose, which was odd, because the cave was in the middle of a decidedly  _ freshwater _ lake.   
  
Though, to be fair,  _ fresh _ was not  _ exactly _ a word he would use to describe the grisly inhabitants of said lake.   
  
He could hear a faded crashing of the waves, now that he thought about it. And when he -- finally -- sought to open his eyes, he could see a face peering at him amidst an off-white ceiling.    
  
It was no matter that his vision was blurry with occasional spots of black, for he would recognize that face anywhere.   
  
"Kreacher," he breathed out, though it sounded faint even to his own ears.   
  
"M-master R-regulus must not talk, he mustn't!" stuttered the elf in concern. "Kreacher will help Master, he will make Master better!"   
  
At those words, Regulus could not help a small, ghostly smile from appearing on his face, though even that small movement hurt.   
  
_ Pain was a good thing _ , he thought with sudden clarity. It kept him alive.   
  
He could guess where he was now. Kreacher had brought him to one of their summer residences -- the one in Cornwall, likely, given the ceiling colors and proximity to the ocean -- in an attempt to cure him.   
  
But that would not be enough. They would find him here, and soon.    
  
He could not return to his parents; he would die before he would get them mixed up in all of this -- though that's exactly what he sought to do this morning, wasn't it? And Bellatrix was out of the question, of course, as she would likely dispose of him on sight.    
  
_ No _ , he thought, a chill sinking his already dwindling body temperature.  _ Bellatrix would not be so kind as to let me die immediately. _   
  
Narcissa may have helped him, but Regulus was sure that her husband would not approve, and he would meet a similar -- though likely less painful -- end.   
  
There was one person who he knew would not send Death Eaters after him, but it hurt too much to think about him. Though what choice did he have, really, when all the rest of them were connected to the Dark Lord?   
  
_ Not all of them _ , whispered a tiny voice of reason in his mind.   
  
It had been a very long time since Regulus had last thought about his middle cousin. The family dramatics regarding her had occurred when he was still young, and of course, they had been eclipsed in his memory by those far more intense, recent, and personal. But the more he thought about it, the better this option appeared. She had a fairly even temperament, and she was a Slytherin after all. Most importantly, he recalled something about her going off to Healer training after graduating Hogwarts...yes, this was the best option, after all.   
  
"Kreacher," he called over his dear friend, "go to St. Mungo's, please, but don't tell them all about me. Fetch Andromeda."   


* * *

 

Mornings were her favorite part of the day.   
  
Not the late mornings when the sun had properly risen, but the early whispers of daylight and the bursts of colorful dawn, when most of the waking world was drowsy from having just opened their eyes or just fallen asleep. Every single morning of her married life -- except one, the day she had given birth -- she had, without fail, risen with the sun, fully channeling its alacrity and strength. Thus, alone, her husband and daughter sleeping away as late as they could manage, she spent every morning sipping tea from her blue porcelain cup in perfectly undisturbed bliss as she watched the sun cast off its daily silken coat of pinks and purples to emerge in its pure, golden glory.   
  
She was just enjoying the last few raspberries of her breakfast -- fresh fruit and cream in a cup, a relic of her past life that the sausage-and-eggs-loving Ted could not entice her to abandon -- when she felt a distinct buzz coming from the ring on her right hand. She glanced down at its gemstone, which had turned from an unassuming clear to a bright, glowing red.   
  
An early morning emergency, she thought with a sigh. Wonderful.   
  
She took one final breath, relishing the last moment of peace, and tapped the gemstone twice.    
  
"Healer Tonks! Oh Merlin! You must come!" cried out the voice of her most recent trainee before delving into his explanation that ended very shortly with hysteria.   
  
"Walter, do compose yourself and explain once more, in proper, coherent English," she responded, not without irritation. Though Walter Jones was certainly knowledgeable and good enough when he knew how to heal a particular malady, he was unfortunately the type to immediately panic if the crisis was unfamiliar to him.   
  
"It's a house-elf, a house-elf who wants to see you immediately. He's bawling like crazy and causing a racket, so please do come. He says it's an emergency," spluttered Walter a bit more calmly.   
  
A house-elf? Her precious morning was interrupted by a house-elf in perfect health? Ah, but Walter had said...   
  
"You are sure this house-elf wanted to speak to me specifically?" she asked.   
  
"Yes, Healer Tonks, ma'am, I'm certain he said so. A mean old one, if you ask me," replied her trainee.   
  
"I'll be there in a moment," Andromeda reassured him. Though one question was answered, a million others now swam in her brain. It was now clear to her who exactly the house-elf was, though why his masters would even deign to acknowledge her remained a great mystery. Curiosity now overcoming her exasperation, she resolutely packed her bag of supplies with a light flick of her wand, scrawled a quick note to Ted, and disappeared with a crack.

* * *

  
Seeing Kreacher sent shivers down her spine.   
  
He was never her family’s house-elf -- that was Tinny, a young, pleasant creature who was Kreacher’s every opposite -- but since she had spent a great deal of her childhood at Grimmauld Place, he was a stark reminder of the family she had left behind.

No. The family that had  _ cast her out. _

She stood still for a moment, watching him as his back was turned. There were only three people who could have possibly sent Kreacher here on their behalf, but Andromeda was not sure which person she was hoping for -- her maliciously mercurial aunt, her unnervingly silent uncle, or her young Death Eater cousin. It had been years since she had spoken to any of them, of course, but she doubted that they had changed much in the past decade.

Except for Regulus, because it is no small step to go from a soft-spoken child to Voldemort’s murderous henchman.

_ No matter _ , she decided.  _ I might as well get this done with. _

“Kreacher,” she called. Immediately the elf spun in her direction, his face contorting into a bizarre combination of extreme sadness and haughty dislike. The distaste was for her, the blood traitor, she imagined, but the tears…

“M-master R-regulus is ill,” Kreacher spoke to her without delay. “M-master sent for the blood traitor to help him.”

So it was not for any sort of financial family matters or incoming shouting matches that she had been sought: it was for her skills as a Healer. But why would the young heir to the Black fortune, newly recruited Death Eater, seek out his estranged older cousin with whom he was not particularly close? Why not simply travel to St. Mungo’s or ask one of his bloodthirsty comrades to help? Unless…

“Kreacher, where is he now?” she asked carefully. The house-elf studied her warily, but she had already assumed the blank mask of an expression she had been taught to apply since she could barely talk.

“The s-summer house in C-cornwall,” stuttered the elf impatiently, tears threatening to spill imminently. “Master is alone, master needs help, master is d-dying!” With that, Kreacher could hold back no longer. His lower lip trembled as he let out an ear-splitting wail, pounding the floor with his fists.

_ He is alone _ , she thought.  _ It’s probably safe _ .

She would go.

But just in case, she would take necessary precautions first. What kind of Slytherin would she be, otherwise?

“Kreacher,” she called sharply, snapping him out of his histrionics. “I will be there in a few minutes. I promise,” she reassured him, Apparating out of the facility without waiting for a reply. She rushed -- as much as a dignified twenty-something former aristocrat  _ could  _ rush -- upstairs and burst into her bedroom. Her husband was still asleep, of course.

Not for long.

“Ted,” she called, shaking his shoulders. “Ted!”

“Hm?” a sleepy voice murmured, bleary eyes slowly opening. “Dromeda, what is it?”

“I need you to get up, right now,” she implored. Hearing the urgency in her tone, he blinked a few times and sat up.

“What is-”

“I’m going to treat my Death Eater cousin,” she told him, in a low voice, watching his face turn white as he processed this information. “I doubt it’s a trap,” she added quickly in reassurance, “but just in case, I need you to take Nymphadora to the Weasleys.”

Wordlessly, her husband stood up and ran to their daughter’s room, scooping her out of her bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “Dromeda, I need you to be safe,” he implored, voice shaking with worry.

“It should be fine,” she replied, her tone wavering slightly despite herself. “He’s alone, and he’s just a boy, and-” she was silenced by her husband’s tight embrace.

“Take care,” he whispered in her right ear, sending warm tingles down her body. She nodded, her face rubbing into his shoulder, her nose taking in his warm scent. Finally, with great determination, she let go, kissed her slumbering daughter goodbye, and disappeared.

* * *

 

The Cornwall house certainly  _ seemed _ empty, at first. Andromeda still had her wand out, though, waiting for a trap of Death Eaters to spring as she quietly prowled through the first landing of the residence.

Her feet glided noiselessly on the wooden floorboards. Somewhere in the back of her mind she still remembered how to walk in utter silence, which spots on the floor to avoid, where to shift her weight at any given square foot. It was automatic for her to walk this way in the houses of her childhood -- she had been no less adept than her older sister and cousin at sneaking out, and of course that came from years of practice.

It only took a few moments for her to hear the sound of labored breathing in one of the nearby bedrooms. Slowly, she slid inside, holding her breath.

Nothing had prepared her for this.

The figure on the bed was oozing blood from his leg --  _ too much _ blood, and it was mixing with a strange, sickly-looking yellow slime. His dark hair framed his naturally pale face, which now looked nearly white except for the dark, hollow patches of exhaustion under his eyes.

“Regulus?” she murmured timidly, peering at this strange man -- boy -- from her childhood. His eyes opened slightly, and her breath caught. They were a warm hazel shade, just as she recalled -- not the harsh silver of his brother and eldest cousin, nor the icy blue of her mother and younger sister, but a warm mix of cerulean and grey and brown that was entirely unique in her expansive family, but somehow a mix of them all.  

Except these eyes belonged to a boy of ten, in Andromeda’s mind, not to a grown Death Eater.

_ Ex-Death Eater, probably _ , a voice in her mind reminded her. His eyes flashed with recognition, and his lips started to move. Realizing that he was trying to tell her something, she leaned in closer.

“I ran,” he whispered. “Dark Lord's soul…split...not safe here.”

_ So he did run _ , she exhaled.  _ Nothing else could really explain it; his injuries are too great for a staged trap _ . Tension in her shoulders that she hadn't even noticed dissipated at the assurance that there were no Death Eaters skulking around. For now, that is, for if Regulus gauged correctly, it was only a matter of time before they would search this residence.

“Regulus, call Kreacher. We need to get you somewhere safe,” she told him in her usual calm, authoritative Healer tone. He blinked once in understanding and muttered his house-elf's name, wincing as she administered some blood clotting salve on his left leg and torso. Kreacher was there in an instant, his face still clearly tear-stained but less panicked than before.

“Kreacher,” began Andromeda. The elf's face hardened as he looked at her, the family blood traitor. She did not deign to address his rudeness. “I promise I will heal him and he will be safe with me. But you cannot follow us.” At this, he scowled in earnest.

“The blood traitor dares to-” he began, but was cut off by a tap from Regulus. The invalid in question muttered a few unintelligible words to his devoted elf, who quieted down and nodded, begrudgingly, in some sort of solemn understanding. A moment later, the elf revealed a golden necklace with some sort of emerald pendant that he placed carefully in the pocket of his master's robes.

“Are you ready?” she asked her cousin, having covered his injuries with the salve. He blinked in agreement and took a final longing glance at Kreacher as she Apparated him to her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus wakes up. Andromeda pays a friendly visit.

It was quiet in the house.

She supposed Ted was still at the Weasleys’, though she cast a quick  _ Homenum Revelio  _ to make sure. Sighing, she scrawled a quick note and attached it to Ganymede. With a haughty ruffle of her feathers, the great horned owl was off, and Andromeda returned to her task at hand.

The biggest concern right now was her cousin’s blood loss -- the salve she had applied back at the Cornwall estate could only clot it temporarily -- so she summoned the strongest dose of modified Pepper-Up Potion she knew was still in the lab upstairs and twirled it into his mouth. Dittany, Shrivelfig, murtlap -- she summoned them all, layering them over the wounded skin, extracting as much of the foul yellow liquid she could. Andromeda gathered it was from a curse wound, though she had never seen this exact coloring before and would likely need to ask Regulus for some helpful details.

It only took a few minutes before she heard a telltale clang in the kitchen, then a familiar shout. She let out a breath she hardly realized she was holding, but she was in the middle of a particularly difficult procedure with the Shrivelfig and could not lose her concentration for a moment, even to greet her husband after an intense parting. The man in question shuffled into the drawing room -- Regulus was sprawled out on the cream-colored couch, his blood turning it a veritably hideous shade somewhere between fuschia and burnt orange, but Andromeda could not think about that right now, either -- and sat quietly in the armchair that was  _ not  _ cluttered with half-empty flasks and torn up herbs.

She did not know how long it took; her process was calculated and methodical and left no room for unnecessary deliberation. Plant after plant, potion after potion, she administered it all with calm swiftness until all the wounds were sealed and the foul yellow liquid discarded. Only after she capped the last bottle of dittany and examined Regulus one final time did she allow herself to take a deep breath and turn to her husband.

He had been sitting there the whole time, she realized, watching her just as he used to watch when she was still in training, watching her the way she would once in a while watch him in the lab, his face full of focus and fascination for every drop of liquid or smidge of powder that would pass through his hands.

“He’ll be alright,” he whispered with a reassuring smile, arms wide as an open invitation. Andromeda needed no other prompting: she was at his side in an instant, hugging him, hands in his thick sandy hair, face buried in his shirt that still faintly smelled like the cleaning solution he had used on their clothes yesterday. It hardly took a moment for her to realize the wetness on his shoulder was her own tears, and when she did, there was nothing stopping her from flooding his whole shirt with her sobs.

“It’s been  _ such _ a morning,” she wept, her arms only clinging more tightly to her husband. 

“Shh,” he whispered, rubbing her back in soothing, languoring circles, “go lie down a bit. You’ll feel better after.” She nodded, face still enveloped by his warm chest, slowly easing herself out of the embrace.

“You’ll ask him what cursed him?” she murmured. He smiled in assent and gave her a quick peck.

“Yes, I will. Now go get some rest.”

* * *

 

He woke up in a completely unfamiliar place.

The first thing he noticed is that he was  _ warm _ \-- the shivering sensation brought about by the Inferi had faded away, and there was a new energy coursing through him, as if his blood was about to sizzle and steam in his veins. 

The ceiling of this unfamiliar abode was a faded light blue, a color he had never seen in any of his family furnishings. He noticed a window in the corner of his eye and studied the fleeting rays of light outside.

_ Late afternoon _ , he concluded.  _ Two-thirds of a day since I nearly drowned. _

Suddenly, there was a clatter of glass and a male voice quietly cursing, and Regulus all but snapped his head in the direction of the noise. The stranger must have noticed the movement, for he dashed to Regulus’s side before even casting a simple  _ Reparo _ . He was a tall, sturdy man, likely about ten years older than Regulus himself, and he sported a mop of sandy hair and a kind-looking, lightly freckled complexion.

“Feeling better?” he asked, sitting down in an armchair across from Regulus.

“Hmm,” replied Regulus, glad to hear that he could speak again above a slight whisper. “Warmer, mostly.”

“Ah, that’ll be the Pepper-Up and the dittany, probably,” muttered the man sitting across from him. “Well, Regulus, seems you’ve had a nasty attack of some sort -- fancy telling me about what nearly did you in?”

“Pardon me, but who are you?” Regulus asked, exhaustion erasing the disdain his tone would have carried otherwise. This man addressed him far too warmly for a stranger, though Regulus was fairly certain he had never met him before in his life.

“That’s right, you probably don’t remember me,” he replied with a chuckle. “I’m Ted. Ted Tonks.”

_ Tonks. _

He began to recall everything now: his talk with Kreacher, his idea to reach out to Andromeda, his cousin’s blurry face in Cornwall. It must have been she who had brought him here and healed him.

And this was her Mudblood -- no, Muggle-born -- husband.

“Where's-” he began, searching for the right name. She had always been Andy back at Grimmauld Place; they had been Andy and Bella and Cissy, though calling her by her nickname from childhood seemed somehow...wrong. “Where's my cousin?”

“She's at work,” replied Ted. “Wanted me to ask you a few things, by the way, mostly about how you got your wound, to help heal it better.”

“An Inferius,” Regulus answered curtly, trying to seal his mind from the hallucinations of the potion. It had been the biggest test of his Occlumency yet...

_ You disgrace,  _ he heard his mother shriek at him.  _ You killed us all, and for what? _

_ You were the heir, _ his father said icily,  _ and you threw that away -- dare you think I would not throw you out the same? _

“-ulus? Regulus?” he heard a voice calling. Someone had gripped his shoulders, snapping him back to reality. With a start, Regulus realized it was Ted kneeling beside him, holding a cup of steaming dark purple liquid to his lips.

“What is it?” Regulus asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

“It's one of mine,” explained Ted. “Should help soothe your nerves and clear your mind. Don't worry about me asking you about it again, I reckon Dromeda has enough of a lead to help you now. Drink up, now, it should help you.”

Regulus was not sure what baffled him more: that this...Muggle-born was apparently an adept potions maker, or that he had more or less correctly read his facial expressions -- there was no possible way he was using Legilimency, of course, Regulus’ Occlumency rivaled the Dark Lord's, so that was the only way he could think of that Ted had followed his thoughts.

He took a sip of the purple potion. It was...surprisingly pleasant, at least, for a potion. A rich, fruity taste -- plums, or ripe peaches, he thought -- tinged with some pepper or other spice, it warmed his throat as he gulped it down. Before he knew it, the cup was empty and Ted was grinning down at him from his armchair.

“Not bad, eh?” he chuckled, clapping Regulus gently on the shoulder. “Hang on, I've got to write to my wife and tell her you're up, mind you, she’ll be relieved.”

Grudgingly, Regulus had to admit he was right -- not bad, not bad at all.

* * *

 

“Healer Tonks! Healer Tonks!”

_ And I was about to leave for good _ , she thought with a sigh.

“Yes,  _ what is it _ , Walter?” she huffed in annoyance. Still not fully recovered after the morning’s ordeal, Andromeda had not been in the bests of moods at work that day. She had snapped at Walter Jones a tad more than he had deserved it -- though, she supposed it made up for the days when she had not chastised him  _ enough _ \-- and she had nearly rolled her eyes in front of her Head Healer!

“An owl for you,” he announced, producing a very familiar great horned owl from behind him.

“Ganymede!” she breathed, the first genuine smile of the workday spreading on her face. Attached to her proud owl’s leg was a small scroll, signed on the outside with handwriting she could recognize in a heartbeat.

_ Dromeda, _

_ He’s awake and talking. Seems safe for now -- I’ll look after him, you get Dora? _

_ Ted _

_ PS: It was an Inferius. _

Of  _ course  _ her little cousin had gotten himself bit by an Inferius, of all things. It explained quite a bit: the yellowish liquid, the size of the bleeding, but most importantly, how she was unable to pinpoint the culprit. Wounds from Inferi were quite rare in the wizarding world, at least these past several years, and Andromeda had never personally come across any until today. Thankfully, they were quite straightforward to heal; she just needed an hour or so with Ted in his lab…

Before she could forget, she wrote an assenting reply and attached it to her owl. Ganymede had let out a scowl at being given  _ more  _ work to do, but given her own strenuous day, Andromeda felt no sympathy for her pet. Fully drained, she packed up her supplies with a single flick of her wand and mustered the energy to Apparate to the Burrow.

* * *

 

As usual, Molly Weasley was at the door before Andromeda even had a chance to ring the bell.

“Why hello, Andromeda, dear! Do come in,” the red-haired woman greeted, beckoning her inside. 

“Thank you, Molly,” Andromeda replied with a small smile. She had never grown extremely close to the fiery Gryffindor woman -- they had hardly interacted at Hogwarts, and Molly’s manners were a bit too...intense for Andromeda’s liking in a close companion -- but Molly was friendly, and she cared about her family, and they were on the same  _ side _ . Andromeda could comfortably call Molly Weasley a friend, especially now that her daughter enjoyed visiting to play with the elder Weasley sons.

“Dora should be around the garden somewhere -- she and Bill and Charlie have got to poking about with the gnomes -- why, do sit down, dear, I’ll have something ready for you in just a moment,” Molly continued, fussing around the kitchen table.

“Thank you, Molly, but there is no need to-” Andromeda protested but was cut off by a cup of tea on a saucer and a heaping plate of biscuits being pushed her way. “Thank you,” she sighed.

“You’re very welcome, dear, but really, it does me good to have company,” remarked the other witch with a sad smile. “Of course, I love my boys, but it’s nice to see a face that isn’t them or Arthur sometime. It was good to see Ted this morning, too.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Molly,” Andromeda reassured her with a slightly more genuine smile. Despite her exhaustion and stress, she felt a little guilty for not indulging the other witch’s conversation. “And how are the boys?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” Molly began, brightening up considerably at her companion’s interest. “Bill’s really got one more year, then he’s off to Hogwarts, you know. Charlie’s been flying all the time on that Comet from his Uncle Bilius -- goodness, what a riot that man is,” here she was interrupted by a sharp wail or two from a nearby bedroom. “That’ll be the twins,” she added with an exasperated sigh. “I’ll just be a moment, dear.”

For not the first time in her life and certainly not the last, Andromeda was thankful that she and Ted had made the decision to only have one child. With both of them working and sharing the burden of household chores between them, it was nothing short of a small miracle that they were managing to raise their daughter as well as it was. She could never imagine having  _ four  _ children, and so close in age, too.

She knew there  _ was  _ a fourth child who had yet to be heard or mentioned at all today, yet Andromeda had trouble recalling his name.

“Sorry about that, dear, you know what they’re like,” stuttered Molly, running back into the kitchen, her face flushed. “It’s worse when there’s two of them, and thick as thieves, too.”

“How’s your other boy, Molly?” Andromeda asked, trying not to draw too much attention to her faulty memory. The woman in question seemed confused for a moment, but soon enough her face returned to its usual cheery brightness.

“Oh, you mean Percy! He’s so well-behaved, and quiet, I hardly need to raise him,” she sighed. “Not like those younger rascals, wouldn’t you agree?” 

But Andromeda’s mind was swimming.

_ He’s so well-behaved, not like that contemptible older brother of his. _

_ He’s so quiet, I hardly need to lift a finger and he’ll do as told. _

_ He’s so- _

“-romeda? Dear? Andromeda?” Molly was gently cupping her face.

_ Where had that even come from _ , thought Andromeda with a shiver.  _ Why must I think of him -- of them -- everywhere. _

“I apologize, Molly, it has truly been an exhausting day,” she explained, none of it being technically untrue. “I really must get Nymphadora and return home, but it was nice to see you.”

“Of course,” replied the red-haired witch, a hint of worry in her expression now. “You must rest, dear, you really are looking quite pale.”

“I promise to retire to bed early tonight, Molly,” Andromeda reassured her. She stuck her head outside the doorway. “Nymphadora! We are going home!” she called out to the garden, where a disgruntled blue-haired girl jumped out from the bushes.

“Until next time then, dear.”

“Until next time, Molly."   
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With hardly a single phrase, J. K. Rowling managed to create a direct comparison between Regulus and Percy Weasley. The more I think about it, they do have a lot in common -- would you agree?
> 
> Also, Ted being a stay-at-home potions maker while Andromeda is the outside-working St. Mungo's Healer makes perfect sense to me. In my headcanon, he's a very patient human (plus other Hufflepuff traits) which make him the right personality type for dealing with something as slow-working and meticulous as potions. Andromeda, on the other hand, I always pictured to be kind and somewhat pacifistic, less patient (though not as bad as some members of her family...), and very much able to detach her emotions and keep a cool head in a crisis: all good qualities for being a Healer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromeda talks to her daughter. Regulus confides in his cousin, then talks to her daughter, too.

Andromeda took care to land just outside of the house.

Her daughter wobbled a bit from the Apparition and hugged her waist for balance. It was only a moment later that she frowned, realizing that she was still outdoors.

“Why are we stopping outside, Mummy?”

“Nymphadora, I need you to listen to me,” she spoke, adopting a serious tone of voice. “You must keep what I'm about to tell you in absolute secrecy.”

“Okay, I can keep a secret,” she responded eagerly, her eyes lighting up. “What is it?”

Despite her attempts to be serious, Andromeda could not help a chuckle as she rested her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, calming her down, for the girl was busy bouncing up and down in anticipation.

“There’s a strange man in the sitting room right now, and he isn’t feeling very well so Mummy is helping him,” she began. “You cannot tell anyone about him -- do you understand?”

“But why?” asked her daughter, her furrowed eyebrow darkening from the baby blue color to a more cerulean shade. 

_ Because although Ted and I could certainly take him on, you would be no match for him, ill and weakened though he is.  _ Andromeda sighed. Sometimes she wished her daughter was less inquisitive, for it would keep her from the harsh realities of the wizarding war a while longer. But after her own...imperfect childhood, there were some things she had vowed never to do to own her children. Lying to their faces and extinguishing their curiosity were among these things; both were habits of her own parents to  _ their _ children, and look at how  _ that  _ had turned out. It was her mother’s constant admonishment --  _ “don’t ask questions, don’t ask questions”  _ \-- that had aided in blinding her little sister from the truth of the ways of the Dark Lord and -- more importantly -- her Malfoy husband. And it was her father’s constant lies that first led her older sister to question their parents’ beliefs, to rebel against them, to blatantly lie back.

“He's shy,” she replied slowly, carefully telling the truth but not more than Nymphadora needed to hear. “He doesn't get along well with most of Mummy's friends, so he doesn't want anyone to know he's here and come by.”

“But why?” asked her daughter again. Andromeda held back another sigh.

“He got into a fight with one of Mummy's friends a little while ago,” she responded carefully.

“Well why can't they just make up?” Nymphadora asked, her brow furrowing in confusion again. This time, Andromeda really  _ did _ sigh.

“I'm afraid it's not that easy,” she murmured, more than a hint of sadness in her voice. “It was quite a big fight, and it would take a long time for them to get along properly again.”

“That's sad.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Andromeda. “But until they're ready to make up, you must keep this secret, alright, darling?”

“I hope they make up soon,” Nymphadora muttered with an uncharacteristically somber nod.

“Let's go inside, darling.”

It was not a surprise, exactly, to enter upon her Muggle-born husband conversing calmly with her purist invalid of a cousin, but that did not stop Andromeda from blinking twice in astonishment at this surreal scenario.

Nymphadora, of course, raced directly into her father's arms before she turned around to face the sick man on the couch. She gave Regulus a little wave, and with a whispered instruction from her father, raced up the stairs to her room.

With her daughter no longer in the room, the rest of them could wallow in the awkward silence with peace, like true adults. Eyes darting back and forth between her husband and cousin, she willed one of them to speak first -- she had no idea what she had walked in on, after all, and did not want to increase the tension with potentially misguided speech.

She did not need to wait long; her cousin opened his mouth.

“Thank you,” he murmured in Andromeda's direction. His eyes were still the same shade of hazel she remembered, the rest of his face nearly an impassive copy of his older brother -- but she would never see that expression on  _ him _ \-- not the guarded, blank face before her, not the Slytherin defensiveness, not the tiny flash of fear and uncertainty.

As far as she knew, her older cousin had never been uncertain for a day in his life.

“You’re very welcome,” she replied with a placid grace. “You must, however, thank Kreacher as well. It is not in my nature to rescue Death Eaters from their deathbed.” The last part came out a tad more coolly than she had intended it to, for he flinched noticeably at those words. 

“I swear I mean you no harm,” he replied softly, “nor your family,” he quickly amended, looking resolutely down at the carpet.

“You must forgive my Slytherin nature for not taking you at your word,” quipped Andromeda with a slight smile, taking care to speak kindly for the moment. “How do I know you are telling the truth? How can I be sure you are not simply plotting a trap?”

Regulus paled slightly at those words and reached nervously into the pocket of his robes, eyes darting between Andromeda and Ted. Finally, he took a large breath, coming to some sort of decision.

“Andromeda, may I speak to you privately?”

* * *

 

His middle cousin looked far less like Bellatrix than he had remembered.

When he was a child, their faces seemed uncannily similar for two mere siblings -- dark manes of hair, sharply defined brows and cheekbones, a slightly pointed nose, and similar haughty expressions of exasperation with their parents and older relatives. Besides, his favorite cousin from childhood had been Narcissa, who had always looked absurdly different from either of her older sisters, and this visual contrast only served to emphasize the similarities between the other two.

But he was no longer a child, and his memories of his eldest cousin were quite a bit more sinister.

_ Don't think about Bellatrix,  _ he willed himself, blocking the terror and love and revulsion around that name by focusing on the woman in front of him. His middle cousin's hair was a chocolate color and somehow less...tumultuous than her sister's, and her eyes were a warmer color, more golden brown than silvery grey. Most of all, though she was currently regarding him with reserve and suspicion, the corners of her mouth were turned up slightly, and the lines around her eyes -- though faint -- spoke of a calmer, kinder countenance.

It reassured him.

Which was how he ended up making the decision to tell her about the Dark Lord’s secret.

“So Regulus, could you please explain what is going on?” Andromeda asked once her husband retreated up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.

_ Might as well just tell it all. _

“I know how to defeat the Dark Lord,” he began, gauging his cousin’s reaction carefully. Though she hid it well, she had evidently not been expecting this kind of a response. Before she had a chance to speak, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the priceless piece of jewelry that he had gone to such lengths to retrieve.

“What is that?” she asked, eyes drifting to the golden locket in his hands.

“Take a look for yourself,” he responded dryly, placing the pendant in her right palm. He kept one fist firmly circled around the chain, though -- just in case. 

“It's--” she stuttered, visibly shuddering from the raw power and malevolence of the magical object in her hands. “It's  _ incredibly  _ dark magic.”

“It's the Dark Lord's horcrux,” he explained in a low voice. Andromeda did not take her eyes off of the locket, fingering it gently as if in a trance.

“When I was in fifth year, I had been so afraid I would not perform well in my Defense O.W.L. That was when Bellatrix lent me some of her books…” she trailed off. “They were confiscated before I could get very far, of course, but I remember that passage that discussed them -- it was just  _ so  _ horrible.” She snapped her eyes back to Regulus then with sudden fierceness. “How did you get this?”

_ Hands. _

_ Feet. _

_ “You are a disgrace!” _

_ “You were the heir, and you threw that away!” _

_ “You killed us all!” _

He was not ready for this. Not yet.

“I'd prefer not to discuss it immediately,” he replied hoarsely. 

“Never mind, never mind,” she conceded, waving him off. “We'll talk when you are better, somewhat. You've offered me an olive branch, and it would be ungracious of me to demand more.”

“I believe it was you who offered it first by saving me, cousin,” Regulus responded with a smile. To his mild surprise, she let out a chuckle at his reply.

“ _ That _ was merely a service of my profession,” she affronted. Her expression became serious after a moment. “I hope you don't mind if I discuss this with Ted -- not the particulars, of course, but the general idea. Married couples do not keep secrets like this from one another.”

_ In which universe was that true _ , he thought, scoffing internally. None of the marriages in the house of Black could be described in that manner -- not his parents', not Andromeda's parents’ -- not even Narcissa's, though hers likely came the closest to it. 

Externally, he merely raised an eyebrow.

“Let me amend that statement:  _ healthy, loving  _ married couples do not keep secrets of this magnitude from one another,” she responded with a roll of her eyes. 

“I suppose that would be alright,” he replied before he realized what he was saying. In all honesty, what could he have expected? That the other adult resident of this house be completely unaware of the situation?

“Good,” Andromeda replied, nodding slowly as her eyes ran him over methodically. “You look better, but you should get some rest.”

* * *

 

It was dark when Regulus woke up again.

The pastel furnishings that surrounded him were now covered by a curtain of night, and only the chain of the locket, loosely peeking out of his pocket, gleamed in the faint light of the moon. He was not quite sure what woke him up -- that is, until he heard a distinct thump coming from directly above him.

Whatever was making the noise seemed to be a living creature, for Regulus could hear footsteps coming from upstairs. Immediately, he drew his wand and snapped into an upright seating position. Too clumsy to be Andromeda’s and too light-footed to be her husband’s, the steps were likely those of an intruder to this household…

...or, Regulus realized, to his relief, they were her daughter’s.

The figure at the top of the staircase was a curiosity. He had little time to interact with the girl earlier that day, but from what he remembered, she hardly looked like either of her parents -- more like her mother, though, if he’d been hard-pressed to choose one. Part of it, he supposed, was her outlandish hair and eye colors -- a Metamorphmagus, he had realized with awe and not a small sense of irony that the extremely rare, prized magical condition had fostered in a Black descendant with a Muggle-born father. He doubted there had ever been a Black Metamorphmagus to date -- it would have been recorded, most definitely.

_ What would Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus think _ , he thought with a mirthless chuckle,  _ their grandchild a Metamorphmagus, but birthed by the daughter they had cast out, tainted with Muggle blood. _

The girl was coming down the stairs now -- given her utter clumsiness, even for a child her age, Regulus was mildly concerned for her safety -- and then it was too late for Regulus to look away: somehow in the shadow of nighttime, they had made eye contact.

“Hullo,” she whispered, or tried to. The childlike attempt at a quiet voice, the inevitable loudness of her movement and very presence -- it was incredibly, painfully familiar.

“Hello,” he replied simply, with a far more restrained whisper. She inched closer to him, eyes wide and curiously examining him. 

_ Well, it would not hurt to humour her _ , a voice told him in his mind.  _ It may be quite entertaining. _

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“I’m Nymphadora Tonks,” she responded, trying again to lower her voice, “but I don’t like my name. It’s so long.”

“Really,” Regulus remarked. When he was young, he enjoyed being referred to by his full name; it gave him the sense that he was being treated seriously, like a grown up, and that was only a natural desire of anyone born the youngest of a family.

“I don’t know why Mum named me that,” she continued. “Her name is really long too! An-dro-me-da. It’s almost as long as mine. But she likes it.”

“She didn’t always like it,” he answered. “When she was younger, no one called her that. We all called her Andy.”

“Andy?” she gasped. “I like it! Dad calls me Dora, and that’s okay, sorta.” She paused for a moment, her face growing confused. “But mister, you know Mummy? How? What’s your name?”

“I knew your mother when she was younger, before she married,” he replied. “And as for my name...you can call me Reggie.”

“Okay, Reggie,” she assented. “Mummy doesn’t talk about when she was little. I think it makes her sad. Can you tell me more?”

“Alright,” he agreed. “What do you know about your mother’s parents and siblings?”

“I know they’re still alive and there are two sisters, but they don’t like each other much,” replied Dora. “That’s it.”

“Well, your mother is the middle sister, and each of them are two years apart,” he began, clearing his throat. “Her older sister’s name is Bellatrix, and her younger sister is called Narcissa.”

“Those names are long too,” she sighed. “Did they have nicknames like Mummy?”

“Bella and Cissy, that’s what we called them,” he smiled faintly. 

“What are they like?”

_ One is a terrifying lunatic who serves the darkest force currently in existence _ .

“Bella looks a great deal like your mother, but she has an...unrestrained temperament.”

“What does that mean?”

“She can be...scary.”

“Oh,” she deflated. “I guess that’s why Mummy gets sad.” Once again, she paused for a minute, drinking in all the family history that was so new to her. “What’s Cissy like?”

“Cissy looks very different, blond and blue-eyed. She is very calm, the perfect lady.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” replied Dora.

“Her husband is not very nice, though,” Regulus added, answering the unasked question on Dora’s face.

“Do they love each other?” she asked softly. “Like Mum and Dad?”

“Yes,” Regulus sighed.  _ And that was the most tragic part of the story.  _

The two of them sat together in silence -- him, gazing at the moon, suppressing all the memories of his other two cousins from his mind; her, staring at him as if he were a strange new toy or trick of some sort.

“Hey Reggie,” she finally prompted.

“Yes?”

“Do you know cousin Siri, too?”

_ Sirius _ .

He had tried suppressing any mention of  _ his  _ name for the past three years, and even Andromeda seemed to comply with his refusal to think of  _ him _ . And now, a most unlikely source had been the first in three years to utter the name of his brother.

The brother that had pushed him away.

“No,” he replied stiffly. “Dora, go back to sleep.” With a few exchanged protests, she obeyed, running up the stairs without crashing into anything too fatal. He was alone now.

But sleep would not come anytime soon.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while...Regulus's POV is currently trickier than Andromeda's (angst is difficult, and Reg is in the throes of it!) and pinning down Nymphadora was a challenge. Next chapter has more Andromeda POV (I plan to keep it between the two of them for the most part, though this may change).

**Author's Note:**

> It feels weird to write two long-running fics at once, but I'm just glad to be back in the mental space to write fanfiction :)
> 
> This is my first foray into HP in a while, and it features two of my absolute favorite, criminally overlooked and underrated characters: Regulus and Andromeda. Though they probably didn't know each other too well in canon -- there was quite an age gap; he was very young when she ran away -- I've always wondered how these two Slytherins, who would find themselves on the same side of the war, would interact. There are plenty of fics out there exploring the Regulus&Sirius as well as the Andromeda&Narcissa dynamic, but not that many for Regulus&Andromeda, so I thought I'd try it out!


End file.
